Chapter Text
The trouble when you're a ghost, as Arthur had soon found out, is that after some time people get settled in your house, change the furniture and the decoration, disturb your peaceful existence and sooner rather than later you find yourself a stranger in your own home. Arthur had seen it all: overwhelmed parents of two screaming children, a single mother growing marijuana in the cellar, a young man beating his fiancée or students never bothering to clean the place. None of them had stayed long, Arthur had taken care of that. That they couldn't see him didn't mean he couldn't make his presence known. For a while, he'd thought his efforts had finally paid back. It had been over a year since the lasts occupants had run away screaming. He had high hopes to be left in peace. Until the day Merlin came in.
At first, Arthur tried to stay open-minded. The new tenant might be nice. He wasn't completely opposed to the idea of someone living in his house, after all, it was just that whoever had shown up until then had never fit his description of people he could tolerate living with. Though, when he saw the boxes, piles and piles of them, so many that Arthur wondered how their content could fit the house, he had a bad feeling. Then there was the tenant himself. Arthur remembered him from his visiting the house. Tall, with a flash of dark, messy hair and ridiculous ears. But above all, Arthur remembered his dressing style. Because who wore red plaid trousers? With a blue plaid shirt? Arthur felt his positivity weaken minutes by minutes. Why did the house have to lure strange tenants? Arthur knew the answer, of course. Who else would settle in a haunted house?
Merlin's taste in decoration was as awful as his taste for clothes, as the ghost soon discovered. The living-room was now furnished with a baroque 3-seaters standing next to a victorian coffee table and an Ikea TV stand. The dreadful mismatched style continued in the bedroom were a wooden four-poster bed sat imposingly, accompanied by a Chinese lacquer screen and a huge wardrobe. The entire decoration was such an affront to Arthur's good taste that he found himself having to turn the closet in the hallway into his safe place. With all the troubles that brought seeing that his real safe place was the bedroom and that being outside of it for too long made him feel antsy. That would definitely not do. Arthur didn't hesitate long before launching his plan to scare away the new tenant.
He waited until Merlin went to bed, until everything was quiet and the man was on the verge of sleep. That's when Arthur walked down the stairs to make them creak. He loved that part, the very first time he revealed himself to new tenants, discovering how they reacted and gauging how easy it would be to scare them away. He liked to begin with small things and gradually increase his level of creepiness. Playing with his victims, seeing their wariness turn into terror, was his guilty pleasure. After all, that was the only way he had to interact with people. He would never harm them, though. A good scare was something but he realised it wasn't their fault if they had chosen the wrong house. And anyway, he'd never been violent.
As Merlin didn't seem to have heard him, Arthur slammed the kitchen door before making the floor creak again. Sure enough, this time, the man came downstairs, wearing nothing but a pyjamas bottom. "Who's there?" he asked, turning the light on. To Arthur's surprise, he didn't carry a weapon of any sort. He curiously lacked wariness for someone so thin and fragile-looking. When he found no one in the living room, he repeated his question and visited the kitchen, followed by Arthur. Once he saw the room was empty, the man remained motionless for a few moments then went upstairs again.
Decided not to let his game be ruined by this scrawny new tenant, Arthur transposed in front of the bedroom and shut the door just when the man was going to enter. Surely this would work. This always worked. But the tenant just rolled his eyes, opened the door and threw himself on the bed. A minute later he was snoring. Well, that was painfully anticlimactic.
Arthur wouldn't let himself be defeated that easily, though. He had standards for people allowed to live in his house and Merlin definitely didn't fit in them - not that anyone ever had. Also there was this annoying tingling on Arthur's skin every time Merlin was around, that had to mean they weren't compatible. So if Arthur waited for Merlin to be settled before trying the next step of his plan, it was for practical reasons and not at all because of his previous failure. He didn't have to wait for long, in spite of the amount of belongings the tenant had. Much to Arthur's dismay, he had even managed to fit the content of the numerous boxes in the house. There were now ornaments everywhere, all coming from different parts of the world and different times, displaying a deep lack of taste that made Arthur wince every time he ventured out of his closet. Those trinkets, though, were part of the next step in the ghost's plan.
During the night or when the tenant was at work, Arthur misplaced them. He would take a plastic knight and put it in the place of a jade dragon which itself would take the place of an Indian-style elephant-shaped box. Of course, that was without taking into account the tenant's messiness and his inability to know where he had put pretty much anything. To get around this problem, Arthur took a step further and switched the content from the kitchen cupboards. It was painful because of his need to concentrate on every object he touched if he didn't want his hands to run through it and let it crash on the floor but he figured it was worth it. Except that, when the alarm set off and a sleepy-eyed, ruffled-haired Merlin made his way to the kitchen to prepare some tea, he only chuckled at the sight of the plates in the mugs cupboard. Arthur refused to panic but this was getting frustrating nonetheless.
His next attempt, writing the words "get out" in the condensation on the mirror while Merlin showered, was met by a similar reaction. And, alright, Arthur was worried now. No one had ever resisted his methods. This loon couldn't be the first person to stay in the house for more than six months. Arthur had to find a way of making him leave.
After days of searching for new tricks, though, the ghost hadn't come up with any idea. Out of desperation, he wrote a death-threat on the kitchen table with ketchup and splattered the rest of the bottle in the room. If that didn't faze his tenant, it would at least force him to clean the mess. It turned out that it didn't but Arthur learned a few things about Merlin nonetheless.
As he waited, contemplating his work, the ghost lacked the excitement he used to feel any time he played a trick on a tenant. He knew that if Merlin hadn't been impressed by his previous ones, he wouldn't be that day either. Still, Arthur wanted to see the frustration on his face when he would have to clean the place. So when Merlin came and chuckled at the sight of the threat, Arthur tried not to be too offended. But then, the tenant turned right to the ghost and smiled wickedly.
Arthur gaped. For a moment, he felt something he hadn't experienced since his death: hope. The hope that someone could finally see him. The hope that, even if his existence would never turn back to normal again, it could at least become less lonely. In that moment, he didn't even care anymore about Merlin's weirdness or ugly tastes; he just wanted to exist for someone and not only as stuff from nightmares. "You-you can see me?"
Yet Merlin didn't answer. He didn't even react to his words. Only then did Arthur realise that Merlin was looking a tad too high and too much to the left. Merlin didn't see him. He just happened to stare into space almost where Arthur was standing.
Arthur could have slapped himself. No one could see. No one ever would. He'd been a ghost long enough to be certain of that. How could he be so stupid as to think Merlin was different?
He was going to transpose to his closet, miserable and ashamed of his naïve hopes, when something incredible happened. Merlin's eyes turned gold and in a split second the kitchen was clean.
Arthur's mouth fell open. His acceptance of the supernatural had notably improved since he had turned into a ghost but this... This was too much. He stood staring as Merlin made tea as if it could explain what the ghost had just witnessed. Then Merlin turned back to Arthur and winked before leaving the room with his mug.
The ghost felt the same dizziness he had felt when he had realised he was a ghost, the same swirling thoughts as his mind fought against the impossibility of it all. Except this time those feelings didn't come with the heart-crushing realisation that no matter how loud he shouted no one could hear him, no matter what he did no one could see him, that he couldn't even touch anything.
He transposed in the bedroom. Sod the grotesque four-poster bed, he needed his safe place. He crumpled in the corner, behind the lacquered screen, as he tried to process what he had just witnessed. Merlin had smiled and winked at him. One might have been a coincidence but both... Merlin could sense his presence. Arthur had no idea how, maybe it was linked to his... special abilities. It didn't matter. For the first time in four years, someone had directly acknowledged Arthur's presence and not just through his tricks. Arthur's whole body was shaking. He didn't know what it meant for him, if he should be afraid or relieved. It was all too much to take in.
Then there were Merlin's supernatural powers. That, too, was mind-boggling. And Arthur wondered, if Merlin had powers, then maybe, just maybe he had some knowledge about paranormal. Could he have met ghosts before? Because, even if Arthur hadn't, he wasn't pig-headed enough to think he was the only one. It could explain Merlin's reactions. But most of all, that meant he might know why Arthur was still there.
It wasn't something Arthur thought about a lot these days, all the questions he had about his conditions. He had shoved them aside the same moment he had realised his rage about it would bring nothing except pain. He hadn't quite accepted what he was but learned to exist with it because he didn't have any choice. That didn't prevent questions from haunting him occasionally. That didn't prevent the fear to be stuck in this existence for the whole eternity to seize him and crush him. So if Merlin had answers, Arthur had to know. He could even put aside the tenant’s horrible tastes, at least long enough to learn more about Merlin, to determine if he was trustworthy, to find a way to communicate with him.
When Arthur finally relaxed, night had fallen already. That happened sometime. He would be engrossed in his thoughts and without him noticing, hours would have passed. He supposed it was a good thing. Distractions were scarce for a ghost. He went out of his hiding place, thinking of a way to communicate with Merlin and realised he wasn't alone in the room. Merlin was sitting on the bed, cradling a very old-looking book in one arm. With his free hand, he gently caressed the pages. He looked at them as if they were the most precious things in the entire universe. He smiled at the words then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were filled with so much grief that something in Arthur's chest tightened. Feeling he was intruding upon a very private moment, he vanished into the closet.
The next day was Saturday, which meant that Merlin didn't have to wake up in the wee hours of the morning to go to work, whatever said work was. Yet the tenant left at dawn. Arthur took this opportunity to explore the house. As he'd never been interested in getting to know Merlin until then, Arthur had spent most of his time in the closet and tried not to register the horrible place that had become his house. He took some time examining the plethora of ornaments in those two rooms, hoping they could tell him more about who, or what, exactly Merlin was but the only thing he learned was that the man had very eclectic tastes in art both from a time and place of origin point of view. Then he visited the second room, which only contained piles of boxes. How a man barely in his mid-twenties had managed to hoard so many possessions was beyond Arthur's understanding. So when he entered the last room, his mind was blown away.
It was a library, there was no other word for it. Shelves filled the entire space except for a narrow path leading to a desk and a chair under the window. An antique library, too. The volumes were all old-fashioned leather-bound, with varying degrees of decoration. There were plain covers, covers with metal clasps, jewelled covers. Arthur carefully opened one and was amazed to discover an illuminated manuscript in a language he didn't understand. He leafed through it for a moment. A lot of the images were skeletons, he noticed, or people that definitely looked dead. As he put the book back on the shelf, he wondered if that should worry him.
Arthur was not bibliophile, yet he was fascinated by the sight of these centuries-old books. He spent hours browsing the shelves, opening books, trying to decipher what they were about or when they had been made and failing most of the time. He found a few printed ones too, but they were almost as old-looking as the others. They seemed to be classified by theme, if Arthur went by the images. There was, amongst others, a section about plants, one about all sorts of strange creatures and, of course, the one with all the skeletons and dead bodies. Arthur didn't know what to think of it. He knew nothing about the sorts of powers Merlin had. He wasn't very keen on discovering it was some sort of dark magic. On the other hand, wasn't someone interested in necromancy the perfect person to give Arthur the answers he sought? Anyway, Arthur was dazzled by the collection. He wondered how much it was worth. There were hundreds of books, maybe more than a thousand. If they truly were originals, they must be worth a fortune. How could Merlin own so much? And weren't you supposed to keep old books in a conditioned environment? Or maybe Merlin's powers took care of that.
He couldn't reflect much longer on the question because Merlin entered the room, still wearing his coat and shoes, a parcel wrapped in Kraft-paper in his hands. He put the parcel on the desk, hurried out of his coat and tore the paper apart. It revealed a book, old but plain with simple clasps. Merlin opened it and began to read. Arthur looked over his shoulder. The text was manuscript and in a language he couldn't recognise yet Merlin seemed to read it as if it were modern English. Arthur contented himself with looking at the illustrations. Again most of them were skeletons, Arthur wondered if that explained why the man didn't seem fazed by the presence of a ghost in his house.
"Can you read middle-English, Mr Spooky?" Merlin suddenly asked.
Arthur startled. He'd never been addressed directly. Not since his death. He stared at Merlin with wide eyes, too staggered to find a way to answer.
"Or are you a Mrs Spooky?" the tenant continued. "I'm Merlin, by the way. But you've probably already figured it out from the mail or something."
The man took a notebook and a pen from the desk drawer and put them on the corner of the desk. "Here. What's your name?"
The ghost stared at the paper. Not only did Merlin sense his presence, he actually wanted to communicate. It felt surreal. Even more so than the kitchen cleaning itself. The ghost's hand trembled when he took the pen.
Arthur, he wrote. Merlin stiffened. His face turned so pale Arthur feared he might collapse.
"Do-Do you mind if I keep Mr Spooky?"
The ghost wanted to answer that yes, he minded because that was a ridiculous nickname yet Merlin seemed so distressed that Arthur didn't dare protest. Besides, someone was actually willing to have a conversation with him for the first time in four years so names didn't matter that much as long as they weren't offensive.
No.
"Good," Merlin said, slowly regaining his composure. “Look, it seems you don’t like my being here and really I can understand that you don’t like to share your house with a stranger and everything but… I need a cheap place to stay and well, thanks to you, this place fits my needs perfectly so... Maybe we could find an arrangement?”
Arthur stared, unable to answer. This whole thing was surreal. People ran away screaming when they noticed him, they didn’t offer to find a way to live together.
You’re not afraid of me.
"Nah. I've met ghosts before and their tricks weren't always as harmless as yours. "
You don't know what I have in mind.
"In my experience, if you were the harmful kind I would have known by now."
That was true, of course, but Arthur still didn't know what to think of his new tenant. As excited as the ghost was to have someone to talk to, it was way too early to let his guard down. He also realised what Merlin had said about the place being cheap. It didn’t make sense when the man had so many precious books. Or was Merlin a thief? The idea to let such a man in his house revolted him. He wasn't sure even his need for company could overcome that.
“So? What do you say about my offer? We don’t even need to talk if you don’t want to. You can just ignore me and mind your own business while I mind mine. What matters is that we find a way to get along. What do you think?”
It’d be hard to ignore you when the house’s filled with your stuff. Ugly stuff.
Merlin chuckled. “I heard that before. But you can’t ask me to get rid of all my souvenirs, can you?”
Oh. Arthur had never thought about it that way. He felt a bit hypocritical suddenly because how many times had he missed simple objects he used to have before his parents had to empty the house? His favourite armchair, the ridiculous mug his best friend had given him for his birthday. As much as he found Merlin's stuff ugly, he couldn't ask him to throw it away.
Okay. But you're sleeping in my room.
"Is that your special place?"
So Merlin did know other ghosts. Arthur bit his lip. He would not let himself be too excited. Nothing proved him Merlin wasn't after him for an experiment or something equally unpleasant.
As Arthur’s mind turned away from the pen he was holding, it fell on the table with a faint clack. The ghost cursed. He seized it to write his answer and put it back on the table.
Yes.
"I think I can do something about that, then. If I take the boxes out of the other room, I could take my stuff there. Then you'd have your room all for yourself. Is that alright for you?"
Arthur hesitated. It would be so easy to push Merlin away, to settle for nothing less than an empty house. But would it make him happier? Wasn’t Merlin’s arrival a perfect occasion to finally put an end to his loneliness? Wasn’t it worth the effort?
Yes.
“Great. So no more tricks?”
Promise.
“Good. I’m sure we’ll find a way to make this work. Now, if you don't mind, I've been waiting for this book for years."
With that, Merlin turned to his books and was soon lost to the world. Arthur watched him for a while, as if it could tell him more about his tenant and prove his distrust wrong. It didn’t, of course, and the more Arthur looked at the book Merlin had probably stolen, the more he feared he might have made a terrible mistake by accepting this deal. In the end, he transposed into the closet and resolved to stay cautious but stop worrying. Only time would tell if he’d made the right choice.
***
Merlin didn't leave the room before long after dawn the next morning, a defeated look on his face. After a few hours of rest, he kept his word. The boxes in the third room were shrunken to fit into a sports bag, thanks to Merlin's powers. Then the horrible bed along with the wardrobe, the lacquered screen and a medieval tapestry Arthur had failed to notice until then, were transported into the room.
It was a relief for Arthur to find his safe place empty again. So much so that he didn’t leave until the next afternoon. Merlin had just come back from work and sat in the kitchen with his usual blueberry muffin. Arthur transposed on the chair opposite him, feeling calmer than ever since Merlin's arrival. He might as well try and learn more about his tenant, he decided. Then he noticed he had nothing to write on. With a curse, he transposed into the library to take the notebook and pen he'd used before and had to walk downstairs as his ability to change location by thought didn't apply to the objects he was holding. As he entered the kitchen, though, the notebook and the pen went through his hands and fell on the ground. That happened sometimes when he held things for too long or wasn't concentrated enough. He picked them up and sat next to Merlin.
You have powers, he wrote.
"Good afternoon, Mr Spooky. I'm fine. Had a great day, thanks for asking."
Arthur groaned. And groaned again when he realised he had no mean of conveying his frustration through writing. As no answer came, Merlin continued.
"Alright. I guess ghosts don't care about small-talk. I have magic, yes."
How?
Merlin shrugged. "I was born with it."
What can you do?
"Err... A lot of things, actually. You've already seen it's quite handy for the housework. And I can do that."
Merlin's eyes turned gold but nothing happened. Arthur scanned the room, thinking he had missed it, when something warm on his wrist startled him. It was like a ribbon slowly wrapping itself around his skin. A gentle caress. A shiver ran along his spine. It wasn't the human touch he craved for yet it was so close, he needed all his self-control not to ask Merlin to do it again once the sensation disappeared.
"Did you feel it?"
Yes.
"That's why I know you're here, because of my magic. I can sense your presence."
Oh so that was what Arthur felt whenever Merlin was around.
You'll know that it tingles and it's deeply annoying.
Merlin laughed. "A bit grumpy, are you?"
Arthur chose not to answer. He was only trying to discover more about his tenant to know if he could trust him, not to be friends with him.
Are there many like you?
Merlin's face straightened, all trace of laughter vanished. He remained silent for a while, shoulders slumped, staring at the table. When finally he answered, his voice was weak.
"Not anymore. There used to be, long ago. Now I'm alone."
Arthur recognised the loneliness in Merlin's eyes. After four years of existing in the world without being able to take any part in it, he knew what loneliness meant. Yet, he felt he could never grasp the deep, raw ache he saw in Merlin's eyes. He seemed much older than his mid-twenties suddenly and so fragile. It was hard to believe he was the same man Arthur was afraid of because he owned entire bookshelves dedicated to something resembling necromancy. But Arthur refused to lower his guard so easily.
"Sorry, I-I have a lot of things to do."
And with that, Merlin went out of the kitchen, leaving his muffin half eaten.
***
Arthur was so afraid he might have said something wrong that he stayed in his room until the next evening. It was strange to talk to someone after all this time. He wasn't sure how to do it anymore and he'd never been good with words to begin with. The fact that so much was at stake didn't help. He couldn't bear to lose Merlin, not before he determined if he could trust him at least. Knowing that his presence was noticed was overwhelming too. Arthur was so used to go undetected. He felt safer in his room for now.
That way, he would never learn more about Merlin though. So he forced himself to go out and found Merlin watching telly in the living-room. Watching telly was something Arthur missed when no one lived in the house. He could always go to the neighbours', of course, but he quickly felt uncomfortable away from home. So he sat on the sofa next to Merlin, only to realise that the channel was in a language he didn't understand. Was that Italian? He couldn't tell. He found an envelope and a pen on the Victorian coffee-table and wrote: Mind switching to English?
"No problem." Merlin flipped through a few channels before settling on some Doctor Who rerun. "Is that alright?"
Yes. Thanks.
Merlin watched religiously. Eyes glued to the screen, he muttered the dialogues, making Arthur wonder how many times he’d seen that episode. The ghost, though, was more preoccupied by the fact that, having not seen the series for years, he didn’t understand a thing.
Who's that girl? he finally wrote before waving the notebook in front of Merlin’s face to make him notice. That earned him a groan.
"That's Clara, the new companion," he mumbled, his eyes quickly back on the screen.
What happened to Donna?
That was finally enough to catch Merlin’s attention. He turned wide eyes to the ghost, who suddenly felt like the dumbest person on Earth. It was funny to think that Merlin was more shocked by his lack of Doctor Who knowledge than by his being a ghost, though. "That was 3 series ago."
Didn't have much access to the telly.
"Oh, right. But wait, you haven't seen the end of the fourth series?"
No.
"You have to! I have all the DVDs!"
With that, Merlin rushed to the TV stand and produced an entire box set. And that's how they began watching two episodes every evening until Saturday where they marathoned to the end of the series. It was nice to spend some quiet time with Merlin, Arthur realised. An empty house was comfortable but he had to admit it was also lonely. They didn’t talk much and that was good too. Besides, Merlin was a good person to watch things with. He giggled like a loon at every joke even though he'd probably seen each episode countless times. He made scarce but funny comments. And his overall enthusiasm was communicative.
With all these good spirits, it was a surprise that the finale and Donna's departure led to an insane amount of crying on Merlin's part. Arthur couldn't blame him, though, as he might have a tear or two in his eyes. Not that he would ever admit it. Being invisible had good sides sometimes.
You alright? Arthur asked as Merlin's tears were still flowing.
"Yeah, sorry. Parting stories always get me." He wiped his cheek with his palm and continued: "It was good, wasn't?"
Very.
"You know, if you want to watch the rest or anything I have, you can."
Watched a few of your DVDs already.
Merlin managed a weak smile. "I guessed as much. Next time's your turn to choose what we watch."
Alright.
"Great. Now I guess I should get some sleep. Have a good night."
You too.
Arthur transposed into his room and picked up the novel he'd borrowed from Merlin, because fortunately the man also owned modern books, though Arthur had no idea where he stored them and assumed magic was involved there. He listened absentmindedly to Merlin going through his bed routine. He heard him toss and turn for a while after that. It lasted almost an hour before Merlin gave up and went out of his room.
Arthur figured he might as well keep the man company so he met him in the kitchen. There was a notebook on the table; Merlin had scattered several of them everywhere in the house during the past week. Arthur wrote: Can't sleep?
"Nope."
Merlin made some tea, then he sat down and cradled his mug in his hands. He remained silent for a while, staring at the liquid. His eyes were red. He looked so tired it was a wonder he didn't fall asleep where he was sitting.
"How old are you, Mr Spooky?" Merlin finally asked. "It's hard to tell without seeing you."
Do years as a ghost count?
"Um yeah, I guess."
32
“So young,” Merlin muttered. His gaze dropped to his tea again. There was sadness in his eyes and his shoulders seemed heavy. Arthur wondered what could possible make someone in his mid-twenties look so old. And if they didn’t know each other enough for him to ask, he could at least try and take his mind off it.
You never have anyone around, he finally wrote. It’s not because of me, is it?
“Oh, no. You made a promise, I trust you’ll keep it. It’s just… I’ve um… Just come to London so I don’t really know many people yet.”
Where do you come from?
“A small village. You wouldn’t have heard of it. But my life’s not that interesting. Do you mind talking about yours?”
Arthur did. He didn’t want to think about Before. When he still had hope and possibilities but never took them. He didn’t want Merlin to know what a coward and a loser he’d been. But he didn’t want the conversation to end either.
Not really.
"Where did you work?"
The pen hovered over the page while Arthur’s raced to build himself a life. I was an engineer. I designed satellites.
Merlin let out an appreciative whistle. "Nice."
Yeah. It was hard work but then, when I saw the satellites ready to be sent in space it was magic, you know. I had the feeling to be part of something important.
The sorcerer looked at Arthur with eyes filled with wonder. Embarrassed, the ghost averted his gaze. "That's amazing! So the things you designed are still out there?"
Yeah. Hopefully they'll still be for years.
Merlin grinned. "I'll remember that next time I watch the sky."
You can't actually see them, you know.
"Of course I know, you idiot! I just thought... It's nice to know there's a part of you up there."
Arthur's throat tightened. He shouldn't have told this. There was a reason why he had buried all thoughts of his past deep inside him, never to think about it again. Because that was it. That was his contribution to the world. The only thing he could do now was scare people away. Except when they weren't afraid. But how many people like Merlin would he meet? People who thought it was perfectly normal to have a conversation with the ghost that haunted their house? He would consider himself lucky if he only met one.
Yeah, he managed to answer.
"Spooky... How did you die? If you don't mind me asking."
Don't want to talk about it.
“Sorry.”
Silence settled after that as Arthur tried and failed to find something to say that didn’t involve his and Merlin’s life. In the end, the man finished his tea and went back to bed.
***
Days turned into weeks that turned into months. Arthur slowly got used to Merlin’s presence. It helped that they didn’t talk much. Sometimes they would sit together on the sofa to watch telly or the ghost would ask Merlin for a book, a modern one, since he still hadn’t figured out where the man kept them and suspected magic was involved.
Then there were the days when every little things Merlin did irked Arthur. The way he scattered dirty plates in the house (and Arthur couldn't fathom why since a few strange words would have cleaned them and put them away). Or the way he whistled classic airs when he cooked. Or his fondness for associating three different plaids. Or simply the tingling on Arthur's skin whenever Merlin was around. In these moments, Arthur would only feel good in his room. He would stay there for days, cursing himself for ever thinking it was a good idea to let someone live in his house, even though he doubted Merlin would have left if he’d asked him to.
When Arthur came out from his extended stays in his safe place, Merlin never inquired about it. The ghost was grateful for that. He had gotten used to do what he wanted without having to justify himself or caring what people thought or felt. At the same time, this freedom was strange now that he lived with someone who could sense him. They could spend a week without talking to each other. And sometimes it felt as if they both lived without being aware of each other’s existence. This arrangement wasn’t truly uncomfortable. Arthur felt safe. It was the existence he’d been used to without the constant fight to scare people away. He could go on like this, he assumed, but he didn’t want to. This wasn’t so far from the loneliness of the time before Merlin. This existence was safe and easy but he’d already let that ruin his life and he didn’t want to do the same with this non-life.
Arthur wasn’t sure what to do, though. Most of the time, Merlin didn’t seem in the mood to talk and their conversation ended quickly. The ghost had been worried it was against him at first but after a few weeks, he had realised it was just the way Merlin was. His pastimes all consisted of activities he could do alone. The man didn't seem to have anyone else in his life apart from his colleagues, with whom he seemed to have a friendly relationship and went to the pub every now and then but whom he never invited to his place. Sometimes, he would sit on the sofa and stare into space for hours without a move. Or he would take one of his ridiculous trinkets and stroke it mindlessly, a sad smile on his lips. He also spent a great amount of time with the old book he kept in his bedside table. Arthur wasn't sure why since half of the time Merlin ended up in tears. And the ghost couldn't tell if the feeling in his guts in these moments was sadness or pity.
On the weekends, Merlin sometimes spent an entire day in the library room. It was easy for Arthur to forget that room and to put his concerns about the way the books had been acquired at the back of his mind. It all came back when Merlin disappeared in there, along with the ghost’s distrust towards Merlin’s preferred field of study. With anyone else, those facts would have doubled Arthur's desire to get rid of him. Coming from Merlin, it only led to complicated, ambivalent feelings. There was a lot of mystery around the sorcerer since he never talked about himself but at the same time, he seemed so harmless Arthur tended to forget his distrust. Besides, the ghost wasn’t ready to push away the only person he could talk to.
It was during one of these days Merlin spent in the library that the noise began.
Clac clac clac
Arthur sighed. The clicking had been going for an eternity now, drumming in his head. If he could still have headaches it would be a massive one. Useless to say he had trouble concentrating on the book he was reading.
Clac clac clac ding
The ghost gave up when he realised he'd just read the same line 10 times. Also, the noise sounded suspiciously like a typewriter and he needed to know if Merlin really was that old-fashioned. He marked the page then transposed to the library.
Sure enough, Merlin was sitting at his desk, hammering on an antique typewriter. Not even the electric type, no it was one of these monsters of metal probably weighing several dozen pounds.
What's that?
"A typewriter. Surely you're not young enough not to recognise one."
I know that. What are you doing with it?
"Um, typing a letter?"
Come on. Who’s still using them?
Merlin dropped his gaze on his hands. A slight flush appeared on his cheeks. “Well, me, apparently.”
God, tell me you’re not one of those snobs who think technology is evil.
“Um, I’m not?”
Then why?
Still looking at his hands, Merlin mumbled something Arthur couldn’t understand.
What?
“I can’t use a computer, alright?”
Arthur gaped. Didn’t you like… grew up with a computer?
“I’m older than I look.”
Come on you can’t be older than me.
“You’d be surprised.”
Merlin’s tone was cold and the ghost understood he’d better not inquire further despite his curiosity. After a minute of silence, the sorcerer went back to typing.
You could have taken a course.
The sorcerer shrugged. “Typewriters work fine for me.”
Arthur wanted to point out that the clicking of keyboards was much more discreet than that of typewriters but he had to admit that was selfish. Instead, he wrote: No need to type the whole page again when you make a mistake.
"Who's said I have to? My magic works well for that."
But there are so many things you can do with a computer.
Merlin stopped typing and looked at his hands again. “I’m not really sure, I mean… I heard about this thing where you can send someone at the other side of the world a letter and they receive it at once and it's amazing, really, but... I don't know anyone who lives at the other side of the world. I don't see why I would need a computer.”
The ghost gaped. He’d met people without any knowledge about technology before but never so young or not without a tirade about how internet was destroying culture, independent stores and social interactions. Merlin was definitely an odd duck.
You know there’s more to it, right?
The sorcerer rolled his eyes. “Are you trying to make fun of me? Just because I can’t use a computer doesn’t mean I’m dumb.”
I know that. I’m only surprised. Isn’t it hard to find a job?
“I manage just fine, thank you.”
But-
“Look,” Merlin said before Arthur could finish writing, “I’m not against technology. It does seem fascinating and magical and everything but it’s so far from what I grew up into that I don’t understand a thing about it. And as long as I manage like that, I don’t see why it should change.”
It seemed so strange to Arthur that someone as young as Merlin – because despite what the sorcerer said, he couldn’t be that old – had given up so quickly. He could accept his decision, of course, it was Merlin’s choice but at the same time, it was sad to see someone deliberately shut himself off such an important part of everyday life because he felt he would never understand. And as much as Merlin tried to ignore it, it couldn’t go on forever either, seeing how technology took a bigger place in people’s life every year. Arthur didn’t want him to be left on this side of the road just because of that. He might not know the sorcerer well – in fact, this conversation was probably the longest they’d ever had – but he wanted to help him. Maybe because he liked Merlin. Maybe because he didn’t want anyone to waste their life the way he had. Maybe simply because that would give them a reason to spend time together.
Insisting wouldn’t help, though. Merlin was irritated enough. Arthur needed to make him see the benefit he would get from learning to use a computer, a benefit he couldn’t get without it. The ghost looked at the books around him and knew he had his argument.
Merlin clicked his tongue when he saw the pen move but his irritation vanished, replaced by a frown, when he read: You can find all sorts of old books on the internet, you know.
"What do you mean?"
Some libraries have taken pictures of every page of their books and you can find them on the internet.
"Foreign libraries?"
Yes.
"And I could read those books without leaving the house?"
Exactly.
Arthur could see the sparkles lightning in Merlin’s eyes as they talked.
“It’s magic!”
The ghost smiled at his tenant enthusiasm but then the man’s face fell.
“I don’t have money to pay for lessons.”
I could teach you.
“You’d do that?”
Of course. And I’ll help you chose a cheap computer.
“Are you sure?” Merlin asked with a shy smile. “Because I’ll probably drive you mad.”
Don’t worry about that.
Merlin’s smile grew brighter. He went back to typing and Arthur transposed into the living-room where he found the noise wasn't as loud and he could read.
They didn’t talk for the rest of the day. It was just the way it was between them. They would talk a bit, maybe watch the telly together, but as soon as the conversation or the film was over, they would go back to their own business as if the other wasn’t there. Arthur was grateful, in a way, because after living alone for years, he valued his privacy and alone time. Yet for the same reason, he craved company. He was tired of being invisible and the easiness with which Merlin fell into ignoring him was frustrating. It made the ghost wonder too, about Merlin’s life and just how used he was to shut himself off. Anyway, Arthur realised if he wanted to become friends with the sorcerer, he would have to make the first step. So later, when Merlin sat at in the kitchen for dinner, Arthur sat with him.
Looks delicious, he wrote, eyeing the plate of lasagne on the table.
“Oh um, thank you." Merlin took a mouthful then frowned. “Isn't it frustrating? I mean… you can’t eat."
It was at first. Now I’m used to it. I’m never hungry anyway.
“Sure? Because if I do something that’s bothering or something, tell me, alright?”
Yes. Thanks.
Merlin ate in silence for a while as Arthur watched. The ghost remembered the time when he would disturb every single meal his tenants had because he craved a food he couldn’t eat. A food he didn’t even need. But it was just one of these things that made him feel so far from human and he couldn’t accept it. He wanted to eat with them, whatever it was, even if it didn’t look appetizing, it didn’t matter. He wanted to eat to be normal again. And if he couldn’t then his tenants shouldn’t either. Arthur had come a long way since that time.
“How long have you been…?” Merlin suddenly asked.
Dead? 4 years.
“Oh.”
Arthur didn’t miss Merlin’s widening eyes but didn’t dare ask why he was surprised. As much as he craved information about what he was, he wasn’t sure he was ready for them yet. He wondered if he would ever be.
“It must be lonely,” the sorcerer went on after a pause.
It is.
Arthur didn’t like the sadness in Merlin’s eyes. He didn’t want pity. He took the opportunity of Merlin’s silence to change the subject.
Want to watch a film tonight?
“Why not? You have something in mind?”
Your turn to choose.
Later, when Arthur would see the opening title of a rom com appear on the screen, he would remember why he had decided not to let Merlin choose what they watched if he could help it. For now, though, he was just happy to have diverted the conversation away from himself and to make small talk until the sorcerer finished eating.
***
A few days later, Merlin bought the laptop Arthur had chosen in a catalogue and his internet connexion was settled. That's how weekly computer lessons became part of their routine. Merlin was a painfully slow learner and more than once Arthur was close to losing his patience but the amazement in the sorcerer's eyes, almost childlike, whenever he faced the screen made Arthur take it on the chin. In these moments, he wondered how he’d never noticed just how beautiful Merlin’s eyes were and quickly dismissed the thought. Going there was not an option.
What Merlin marvelled at the most were the manuscripts. It took him some time to find out how the catalogues worked, something Arthur couldn't help him with since he'd never entered a library, but then he was so fascinated by how easy it was to read all these centuries-old lines that he could stay hours behind the screen. Much to Arthur's dismay since Merlin refused to touch the laptop without the ghost at his side.
It was nice to spend more time with Merlin, though. Slowly, the sorcerer opened up. They talked more, about everything, from films to books and history. Merlin loved history and had such knowledge of it Arthur couldn’t believe him when he said he had never studied it. Not that Arthur minded. Merlin was a very interesting person to listen to.
And caring too, as Arthur discovered one day.
The ghost was reading in his room when he heard a knock on his door. Merlin entered a few seconds later, carrying a book close to his chest.
“Hi… Um… You don’t mind me being here, do you?”
No. Come in.
Merlin did so and sat on the floor next to the ghost. He handed him the book – which wasn’t a book but an Ikea catalogue.
“I thought you might be tired to live in an empty room. You can just circle what you want and I’ll get it.”
Arthur felt something warm in his chest. Merlin had often expressed his wish to do what he could to make the ghost’s existence easier, but this was a whole new level. Merlin might have a strange obsession with necromancy and Doctor Who but he was a good person. Arthur wasn't sure why he'd been so distrustful at first. He'd have to have a conversation with Merlin about the content of the library one day and Arthur was still upset at the idea of living with a thief. Apart from that, though, Merlin seemed harmless. Surely, if he wanted anything from Arthur, he'd made it known by now. Or maybe it was all an act to gain the ghost's trust but somehow, Arthur didn't believe it. In his excitement to finally have found a friend, he was ready to throw all caution away.
Eyeing the catalogue, Arthur felt guilty, though. Objectively, he didn't need any of this. He didn't have clothes or any other possessions so what would he do with a wardrobe? He didn't need a bed either as he didn't sleep. As a matter of fact, he didn't need any piece of furniture since he only floated above them out of habit. Standing all day long just seemed weird. And despite the many languages Merlin could speak (in addition to Middle-English and Italian, Arthur had caught him watch the telly in French, Spanish and German and was pretty sure he could read all the old languages his ancient books were in), his job, whatever it was, didn't bring him much money. Arthur appreciated the gesture but he couldn't spend Merlin's money on useless things.
Thanks but I don't need anything. Keep your money.
"Don't worry about the money. I have some savings, it's alright."
I'm a ghost remember? I don't sleep. I don't have anything to store.
"And you can only touch things when you concentrate on them. I know that. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live comfortably. This room's your safe place. You spend a lot of time here. Wouldn’t it be cosier if it wasn’t empty?"
The house's been empty for months before you arrived and I managed. I don't need any of this.
"Look. People don't need paintings or candles or flowers but they buy them anyway because they're pretty and they make them feel home. Now I live in your house and filled it with my stuff and all you have left is that room so the least I can do is to help you feel home in there." He pushed the catalogue to where Arthur was sitting. "Please, have a look."
Merlin looked at him with his big, blue eyes and his best smile. He seemed so keen on doing something for Arthur, the ghost felt a refusal would break his heart. And he had to admit it would be great to feel at home in his room again. He took the catalogue.
They decorated the next week-end. Arthur had selected only cheap items. A simple armchair, a fancy yet affordable floor lamp and plain curtains. He also asked Merlin to store his novels, the ones he suspected to have been magically shrunken, in his room to fill the space. Of course, that meant he'd had to buy bookcases that he was now trying, and failing, to assemble.
Arthur stared in disbelief at the screws and the wooden panels scattered on the floor then at Merlin contemplating the manual. Can't you use magic? he wrote. But Merlin was too concentrated on his task to notice. Arthur took the instructions from his hands and replaced them by his brand new notebook decorated with a monkey (because, of course, Merlin hadn't resisted buying tons of things that weren't on his list). Merlin startled then read the question.
"I could but only to move things around. Magic can't understand the instructions for me."
Arthur rolled his eyes. It couldn't be that complicated. He wrote so, earning a groan from Merlin. "Well then help me!"
The ghost tried. He actually understood the manual in a few minutes. Only, explaining what to do by writing it proved to be more difficult than he'd thought. And he couldn't hold things long enough to assemble the bookcase by himself.
In the end, after two hours and a lot of shouting and insults from Arthur, which hopefully Merlin couldn't hear, the two bookcases were put up.
Finally!! I've never met someone so clumsy.
"Oi!"
I hope you don't do anything manual in your job.
"I work in a coffee shop."
How many cups do you break?
"Well, then maybe I should let you put up the rest," Merlin said with a smirk. Arthur gasped.
That's low!
Merlin grinned. With a few strange words, he made books appear on the shelves. Then the curtains were hung and the lamp put up in the same manner. The armchair required some assembling but it wasn't as laborious as it had been for the bookcases. Once the armchair put up, a fuzzy lilac throw along with a cushion decorated with owls that could have been drawn by a 3-year-old appeared on it. Arthur winced.
What's that?
"Don't you like it? I thought it could bring some life to the room." Realising what he'd said, Merlin put a hand on his mouth. "Sorry! I didn't mean to be rude! I... It's an expression."
Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at the horrified look on Merlin's face. No harm done.
Merlin smiled tentatively. "So um... Do you like it?"
Arthur really wanted to be honest and say no. But Merlin's hopeful face got him. Yes, he wrote with a sigh.